The Werewolf Needs a Detective
by the consulting werewolf
Summary: Molly Hooper is now a werewolf. Sherlock being his usual Sherlocky-self is curious about the changes in his pathologist. Also he can not explain the presence of the American teenager named Jackson around her. And his friend is plain irritating (and is even Stiles his real name?). Note. In my head this story is set after The Empty Hearse. :)
1. Chapter 1

Lightning rips across the sky. Thunder follows which very efficiently covers the roars in the alley below. And lightning flashes across the inky black sky again. It briefly illuminates the two men fighting below, with their sharp white canine teeth and blood oozing out of the numerous wounds on their body.

Sharp nails clash against each other again. Their superior sense of smell tells them it will rain soon enough. But there is no stopping them. It was a fight to kill. It was a fight that would decide the future for once and all. Teeth bared and nostrils flaring, they fight.

The two opponents are perfectly matched. Both are tall and well built. Their muscles ripping under their clothes that had been reduced to tatters ages ago. One had dark hair and the other had dusty blonde hair. They shared one common feature—both of their eyes were a rich ruby red.

"You can't win!" the dark-haired one growls.

"London is mine! And you know it!" the blonde one growls back, "You will never win against me!"

A final roar, a final push, a final drive of powerful claws through flesh, a final breath drawn. A body drops to the ground. Blood pooling around it.

As the victim falls, the victor looms over with a satisfied grin. He roars like the Alpha he is which gets masked by the thunder. It starts raining.

He almost does not see the young woman walking into the alley. He smells out her first. A scent of Chanel No. 5, coffee and death. He hears her heartbeat rise as she sees the scene before her. He slowly turns around and faces her. He smirks as he registers the look of disbelief, shock, horror and then followed by pure fear on her pretty face. She takes off on a run, but that is plain useless. He overcomes her soon enough. He grabs her by the waist and pulls her off the ground. She opens her mouth to scream but he puts his hand over her. She thrashes and squirms. He smirks as he opens his mouth again, his teeth growing. He takes a deep breath and plunges his canines on her shoulder.

Her eyes expand in pain. She feels the venom from his bite seeping into her blood, burning it. She wants to faint and fade away to her imminent death. But he keeps holding her up. When he thinks it is enough, he lays her down in a manner that is almost gentle. Well, the venom might kill her or change her. If it kills her, then okay, no regrets. If it does not, well he needs Betas in his pack. And a pretty Beta like her would not be such a bad thing in his pack.

He smiles as he walks out of the alley. He walks away with no care. He does not notice the young man lurking in the shadow who rushes to the young woman's side as soon as he is gone. This young man kneels down beside her as rain drips down his face and cradles her head in his lap. He mutters under his breath, "Oh shit."


	2. Chapter One

Maybe burning in hellfire feels like this. And this is how a dying man might feel when he gets stabbed over and over again. The blade driving through flesh and puncturing organs. Then the hurt feels like as if someone is twisting said knife. Molly Hooper feels as if she is in transition. Hanging between painful consciousness and death. Her heart is beating so loud, she half-wonders if anyone can hear it. She feels someone lifting her. She cannot be sure. She might be dying too. Or this pain will never actually go away. She is not sure but she hears someone call her name, "Dr. Hooper? Can you hear me?"  
Molly can hear him. But it feels like she is dreaming. The voice sounds similar. She has heard it somewhere. She cannot remember right now. Her lungs are aching, or else she would have answered.

It was the growls that had drawn Jackson Whitmore out of his home in east London. He had rushed out. What he was actually concerned about was that he knew Dr Hooper left the hospital at this hour. The safety of the good doctor was his priority as he donned his jacket and raced out of his home.  
As he was running, he reflects back on the first time he met her. He had moved in her apartment building. He was moving stuff when he had cut his hand. Dr. Hooper was his next door neighbour and she had noticed the blood gushing out of his hand. Like the doctor she was, she wanted to administer first aid. It was futile trying to wrench her off. He had tried being rude and she had just rolled her eyes. She had grabbed his hand and almost fainted when she had seen the nearly healed hand. She had asked questions and he had not answered any. But that too failed to deter her.  
It all happened when a werewolf from Gus's pack had come over to recruit him in the pack. Jackson had refused. He wanted to be alone. He did not need packs. He had growled and his eyes had turned to that icy blue shade. The other werewolf had left with a disapproving nod. Just as Jackson was about to close the door, he saw Molly Hooper making up the stairs looking at him in shock. Then he realized he had not returned to human, he was still half-turned. He had been too pissed off to notice.  
Even that did not deter her determination to know him. He had finally relented. So now Dr. Molly Hooper was the only person in London who knew he was a werewolf. And now she is bunched up in his arms, bleeding profusely. He walks up the stairs and unlocks his apartment. He is worried, very worried. He knew she could either die or live. And both predicaments were dangerous.  
He had seen the last of the fight. He had seen one of them bite her. He could not move his muscles. Fighting with an Alpha is not his forte. He felt faint when he had seen her small figure falling to the ground after her attacker was done, the blood pooling around her. He had picked her up and ran to his home.  
He lays her down gently on his couch and sits down beside her, biting his nails. He knows he needs to wait overnight. He could hear her heartbeat, loud and erratic. He could hear her breathing, heavy and it sounds like it is requiring some effort to do so. He wishes he could call someone. Someone with a lot more experience, like Derek or…hell, even Stiles would have been spectacular in this situation.  
He runs both his hands in his hair. He prays she will be all right. After all, she had been nothing but kind to him. And he was grateful for all the times she made him dinner and asked him too many questions. He was grateful when she helped with his coursework (he is studying medicine at King's College). She is like family. And to a guy who had never felt at home for a long time, London felt like home. He did not want to lose her. He decides he will patiently wait. There is no use over thinking this. He lays down on the floor and waits for tomorrow.

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade makes his way through St. Barts Hospital to reach the morgue, with Sherlock Holmes following him. There was a new body which had been discovered in the wee hours in the morning. And the description of the body is what had brought the worlds' only consulting detective here. There was also the little fact that the body was found close to the hospital.  
They barge in the morgue and both halt at their tracks. It is not their usual pathologist, this is someone new. Lestrade shakes off his passivity and walks up to the new pathologist. He says, "DI Lestrade. And you are?"  
"Oh hello. I am Dr. Mauve Raffles. Dr. Hooper did not come in today."  
"Oh. So, about the body."  
She pulls off the sheet and for the first time in Lestrade's life, he feels downright nauseous. Sherlock too feels slightly uncomfortable. Dr. Raffles chews down her lips, no wonder to stop throwing up again for the second time.  
Sherlock ventures close to the body and inspects. Half of the face is torn to ribbons, the intact half on the other half looks up at him with blue eyes. His neck is slashed open, a little bit more would have decapitated him. There are numerous other gashes on his chest. Some shallow, some deep. Sherlock frowns as he sees the bite marks on his hands and shoulders. The bites are extremely forceful, judging by the places where the bite is so deep, he could see bone peeking out of mangled flesh. Then the next thing he notices makes his eyebrows go up. There is a gaping hole in his chest. He looks up Dr. Raffles and asks, "His heart?"  
She turns around picks up a jar. Facing them, she raises the jar, "Here, his heart."  
Lestrade clears his throat, "Well not a homicide then, definitely an animal attack."  
Sherlock says, "An animal attack in east London. Seriously Lestrade?"  
"How do you explain this then?"  
Sherlock just shrugs his shoulders. He asks, "Do you have any ID?"  
"No. I have sent the fingerprints for analysis," Mauve replies.  
Lestrade turns around to leave. Sherlock follows suit but suddenly stops in his tracks. He goes back to the body. He leans down and looks closely. Mauve sees him and comes over. She says, "Do you see something?"  
Sherlock shakes his head and leaves. He does not tell her that he saw what he thinks are claw marks around his chest. Animals do not rip out hearts with their claws, do they? A feral animal will always use its mouth. What kind of animal rips out hearts with their claws? That too, in east London of all places. He muses that there is more than what meets the eyes here.  
And also, why did not his pathologist come to the morgue today? He decides to investigate that first.

**A/N. So I decided to change the timeline to after The Sign of Three. I am soooooo changeable!**

**(Okay will not do that again.)**


	3. Chapter Two

Jackson wakes up. His back is sore from sleeping on the hardwood floor. He rubs his neck and gets to his feet. He looks down at Molly. She is still unconscious. Externally it looks as if she is peacefully dreaming. But oh, he remembers the pain and the agony. He might not remember anything from his Kanima days, but he remembers the moment after Derek Hale turned him. A shiver runs down his back. Morose thinking to be done later. Right now, he needs to make sure Molly is okay. He leans down and listens for her heartbeat. It is sporadic. Fast now and slowing down the next moment. The venom is changing the prior 'normal' rhythm of her heart. Her breathing too sounds normal enough. His hands are itching to call someone at Beacon Hills, but he refrains. Nope, he is not going to, at all costs. He cut all ties there so he could live here in peace. And run from the guilt of killing so many people. Of all the blood on his hand no soap can wash off.  
Another shiver runs down his spine as he sits down on the floor again. His head swivels around as he hears footsteps up the stairs. He sniffs the air. Not a werewolf. But curiosity rears its head at him. He leaps to his feet and peeps through the peephole. He frowns. Who is that long coat wearing person knocking at Molly's door? Oh wait, now he is picking the locks…should he do something?

Sherlock tries knocking. No answer. Okay, then, out come the lock-picking tools that he may or may not always carry with him.  
He picks open the look and enters her flat. He had been here only once. Right after he had jumped off St Barts rooftop. He had hardly stayed for any more than an hour. He looks around and notices…nothing has changed. There is still her overflowing bookshelf pushed up against a wall. The television not too far from it. And that couch placed opposite to it that had been too comfortable for his liking. Even Toby, her cat is still here on the couch, glaring at him with his yellow eyes. On his right the open kitchen and breakfast bar is still clean and clinical as always. He could glimpse her bedroom and bathroom in the hallway running beside her kitchen. Wait, even the cat magnet stickers on her refrigerator is still there.  
He wanders in her bedroom. The door is ajar anyway. He pushes it open and deduces that 1) the bed is still made and looked unslept in and 2) her casual clothes were piled on her bed, as if she had plans to go somewhere after she came back from work (probably a all-nighter with that Tom, he rolls his eyes and scoffs). So in conclusion, she neither came home nor did she go over to Toms'. He frowns. Where is she?  
He does not want to, but along with his curiosity, he feels concerned too.

Jackson opened his door an inch and listened. So far he heard his footsteps and Toby's wheezing. As he heard his footsteps coming closer to the entrance of Molly's flat, he shuts the door softly and goes back to peeping. He notices the look of extreme anxiety on his face. Jackson wonders who the hell is this guy? I mean, he knows Tom. And this guy kind of resembles him…  
He is broken from his profound musings when he hears Molly shift. He turns around and rushes over to her in no time. He sees her opening her eyes. They are bright amber.

At first she feels this burn. It is sizzling her blood. And gosh, her muscles! Why does it feel like she ran a mile or something? And Lord is she thirsty! Her eyes are watering too. They are so filled with liquid, she can hardly open them. She even feels that her bones are different.  
Well, that is everything under her neck. Now neck up it is pandemonium. Her head is hurting like hell. Like an entire army of blacksmiths are hammering in her head. Then the sounds in her ear were not helping at all. She can hear her heart (and another heartbeat), her lungs pumping precious oxygen, doors slamming somewhere, a baby crying, a theme song of a popular morning news show, people talking and traffic. She finally opens her eyes and it does not really help.  
As her vision clears, everything becomes high definition. She can actually see the dust on the ceiling. And her olfactory senses her attacked by myriad smells—eggs frying, car exhaust, soap and more importantly the metallic scent of dried blood.  
In a rush like the random occurrences of flash floods, she remembers everything. She sits up straight and shudders. She notices her surroundings for the first time. This is not her flat. She turns around to a voice calling her name, "Molly?"  
"Jackson?" Molly speaks.  
"Hi. Good morning."  
"Jackson, what happened to me?"  
Jackson runs a hand through his hair. He opens his mouth, but hesitates. Molly leaps to her feet and gets a little astonished how fast she rose up from her sitting position. Hell, her muscles and bone all of a sudden feel…flexible. What the hell? She notices the blood on her shell pink blouse. So it was her blood she smelt. She pushes down the blouse and notices the faint scar on her shoulder. A bite mark. Her eyes widens in horror. She knows the stories, the legends, and the lores. The teenager in front of her had told them to her. She whispers, "Jackson? Was I…bitten?"  
All it takes is a nod from Jackson to send her collapsing back on the couch with an uncomfortable realization that her world is crashing down on her.

Mauve is waiting in the lab for the fingerprints technician to give her a positive match. She literally breathes down the hapless guy's neck ("How long Ian?") who is by now is extremely nervous. The results come back. They squint down on the name on the screen. The guy says, "Igor Jablonski. Repeat offender and owns a garage."  
"Yes, very good." A thick Russian-accented voice speaks up from behind them. They startle and turn around to face an intimidating gigantic blonde man accompanied by this petite redhead. "Now, listen carefully—give the body to us."  
Mauve shakes her head while the technician just shakes from his head to foot. She says, "Who are you? If you're family, then sorry. It is an ongoing investigation and we can't simple release his body to you."  
"Oh yeah? Irina?"  
The redhead, Irina, skips up to the technician and grabs him by the neck. For her height and musculature, no one would think she could actually dangle a man far taller and heavier than her a foot of the ground. Ian face turns an alarming shade of red as the oxygen gets slowly cut from his brain.  
Mauve flails her hands, "Stop! Stop! What do you want?"  
The guy says, "Give us the body lady."  
"But-"  
"Or else he dies. Irina?" On command her hold on his neck gets even stronger.  
Mauve sobs, "Okay, all right. Take it!"  
He gives them a wolfish grin. Irina drops Ian on the ground, who coughs and curls into the fetal position on the floor. Mauve kneels down beside him as she sees the two intruders out of the corner off her eye. They grab her ID that she had casually placed on the table. They leave.  
Mauve gets to her feet and lunges at her phone. But before she could make a call, the big blonde guy returns. He makes a clicking noise with his tongue and Mauve watches in horror as he smashes her smartphone in his hands without breaking a sweat. He smiles and leaves.

**A/N. So I actually do not know how it feels when you turn into a werewolf. That was just a random guess. Like I would know more if Derek Hale bit me. But then I would be too busy eating without getting fat. LOL. **

**Anyway please leave a comment if you like.**


	4. Chapter Three

Irina whispers to the man carrying the mangled body of Igor Jablonski, "Don't worry Vlad, we will get our revenge. Augustus will get our revenge."  
Augustus Lowndes, Igor's second-in-command. Next to Igor, he is the man everybody respected, admired and revered in the pack.  
Vlad says nothing as he gently carries his Alpha's body to the van. He puts him at the back and slides in the front seat. Irina sits beside him and takes the wheel. They need to take back the body back to the garage. Igor needs a proper burial. A funeral worthy of a courageous mass leader.  
The drive back to the garage is silent. Each was lost in their own thoughts. Vlad only moves when the van jerks to a stop. As he gets down to open the backdoor, a handsome dark haired man with brown eyes shows up. Irina says, "Augustus."  
Augustus walks up to them and hugs her. He then walks up to Vlad and grasps his elbow, saying nothing. Vlad gives the slightest nod and scoops up Igor's corpse.  
The trio walks to the garage in slow, heavy steps. Inside, about twenty to thirty people have congregated. Their heads turn and each gasps out loudly when Vlad puts down the body of their leader on the ground. The sheet covering the body slips. All eyes fall on the damaged body of their leader. No one is able to hold back their tears when Vlad with his enormous body shaking, starts sobbing. The only person with a dry face is Augustus.  
Augustus is holding back his tears. He will not cry in front of them. He is the Beta, and Igor trusted him more than anyone. He clears his throat, "We all know who did this. And we will get our revenge."  
Every face turns to him. Yes, they do know who did this. He cries out, "Who is with me to kill the last of those sons of bitches?"  
Every voice in that room cries back to his call with only positive answers.

Half-way across town, Gustav Akraka is tense. He had just heard that Igor Jablonski is dead. His rival. Their fight about the pack territory in London is legendary. Every werewolf knows it. Every werewolf knows that his pack and Igor's pack were the largest. And no one messes with them. But now with Igor's death raised some serious and obvious complications. He is now the official murder suspect whether he liked it or not. He is in deep trouble. Alpha or not, he knew that Augustus guy will soon land on his sorry ass. He has to make a move.

Lestrade barges in through the doors of 221B and says loudly, "The body has disappeared!"  
Sherlock is cleaning test tubes in the kitchen when Lestrade rushes in. He looks up quizzically at Lestrade. He asks, "What?"  
Lestrade launches into his narrative, "I got a call from Mike Stamford saying that he had found Dr. Raffles and this other lab technician sitting on the floor, sobbing. On asking what had happened, they said that two people—a man and a woman—had stolen away the John Doe, the animal attack one. He had been identified as Igor Jablonski, by the way. According to Dr. Raffles, they were not next of kin—those body snatchers. I even went as far as to ask for the security footage. Mike said he will get back to me with that."  
Sherlock frowns. This case is no longer that simple again. Lestrade continues, "Why would someone steal the body?"  
Sherlock says nothing. He is getting a whole lot of questions but no answers. He says, "Leave. I need to think."  
If Lestrade is taken aback by this comment, he says nothing as he leaves. He needs to go over to St Barts anyway.  
After Lestrade's exit. Sherlock goes back to his microscope. He focuses in on the slide underneath. It has a drop of blood on it. Blood of the victim Igor or whatever. He had swiped a sample when Mauve was not paying attention. If it was Molly, he would not have to worry about the blood sample getting thoroughly tested according to his wishes. But he had no idea how far Mauve Raffles would humour him. After all both John and Molly had let it known that not everyone at St Barts could tolerate him. He did not necessarily care who can tolerate him or not, but he liked having his results fast and correctly done. And he trusted her. The gnawing sensation returns again. He hopes she is all right.  
He shakes it off as he puts his eyes to the electron microscope and what he sees makes him very very confused. He has never seen anything like this. Blood cells do not look or behave like that. Is this the reason why the corpse had been stolen? What is this anyway?


	5. Chapter Four

Molly is pacing back and forth in Jackson's living room. She still cannot believe the changes. Jackson sits down on a stool and waits for the questions, even though he had told everything he knew which was really not that much. He almost wishes Stilinski or Hale was here.  
Molly finally stops pacing. She asks, "When is the full moon?"  
Jackson takes out his phone. He had made a note in his calendar. "In four days."  
"Oh damn."  
And the pacing begins again. Jackson is really annoyed by now. He says, "You know it is not that horrible being a werewolf. There are certain cool things you can do now."  
That stops the pacing. She looks at him, her face saying "please continue". So Jackson continues, "Your speed is faster than normal human beings. Not like those sparkly vampires in that movie, mind you. That is totally fake. And your five senses are much more hyper-sensitive now. Especially, the hearing. You know how dogs have ultrasound? Yeah we have the same. And physically, you are a lot fitter now."  
She nods, "Yeah, cool and all, but for one thing. I will be turning into a rabid wolf once a month!"  
He coughs, "Actually, twice."  
"WHAT?!"  
"Yeah. Women turn twice a month. There was this female wolf in Derek's pack. She said so. Like I have no idea though."  
Molly plops down on the sofa again. He shifts around in his seat and asks, "Molly, did you see who bit you?"  
She says softly, "No."  
"He will call you."  
This makes her leave the sofa again and stand up straight, "What?'  
"Yeah. Whoever bit you will call out to you. You are now part of his pack."  
"Oh awesome. Not only will I wolf out twice a month, now I know that the psychopath who bit me will make me go to him. Really awesome."  
"Sorry."

"It is not your fault." She goes and sits down again, "Gosh, I am hungry. And I missed work. Oh shit."  
"Food, yes," Jackson takes out his phone and looks up at her, "Will pizza do?"  
"Order two. I feel like I can eat one whole pizza by myself."  
Jackson snorts out loud.  
"I need to call at the hospital." Molly mutters.  
Ordering done, Jackson comments, "You are thinking of work now?"  
"Well, I love my job. And I might have missed something."  
"You are impossible."  
"I know." Molly smiles for the first time.  
Jackson suddenly remembers, "Oh, in the morning, this guy came snooping around your flat. He had this huge coat on and he kinda resembled Tom."  
She starts blushing and her heart skips a few beats. Sherlock came looking for her? Impossible. Something must have happened down at the morgue. Or he needed a body part. Hence he came by. No way would he come because he realized she did not go on the morning shift today. Nope. No way.  
Jackson hears her heartbeat and asks, "Molly? Is something wrong?"  
"No. Nope. He is Sherlock Holmes by the way. A-"  
"Oh that guy who came back from the dead?"  
"Yeah." More blushing. "Uh, I need to call Tom."  
She fervently wishes being a werewolf could stop all this blushing. Her heart skips another beat as she realizes that she would have to face Sherlock in this condition soon. Oh heavens.

The trip to the mall is so boring, Stiles is wondering if people died of boredom or not. This was all Alison's plan ("Let's go watch a movie! It will distract us!"). Like, as if that is working. His mind is still pretty screwed up. That is why, when he could not take it anymore he had escaped from the movie hall. Scott can smell and find him, he cannot be bothered.  
He aimlessly wandered for an hour or so when he comes down to the main entrance. There is some sort of competition going on. Winner wins a trip to London. He shifts closer, his interests piqued. It is a movie trivia thing. He hears the emcee shouting, "Just five questions, and if you get them all correct, you can go to London for a holiday! For three weeks! C'mon up all those interested!"  
Stiles wants to but…eh, whatever, he pushes his way through the front of the crowd. The quiz begins.  
The first question hardly registers in others when he finds himself shouting, "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban!"  
The emcee raises an eyebrow at him. Stiles stammers, "Eh, you know the first movie where Sirius Black appears."  
"Yes. Correct. Next—wait, next time let me finish the sentence, okay?"  
"Yeah yeah, sure. Sorry man."  
Well, he answers the next three questions. He is now really excited. He could actually win this. Like for real. He takes a deep breath and waits for the fifth and last question. A picture flashes on a screen. The emcee asks, "Can you identify these men in this picture? A hint: both will soon be declared as Britain's national treasure!" He takes a moment to guffaw at his own joke.  
Stiles, however has shouted out the answer before anybody could even open their mouth, "That is Tom Hiddleston and Benedict Cumberbatch in the movie War Horse!" The other contestants all shoot poisonous glares at him.  
The emcee gives him a big smile which is downright scary and shakes Stiles hand as he shouts a little bit louder, "Congratulations! You win an all-expense paid three week trip to London!"  
"Go Stiles!" Stiles spots Scott cheering him. Scott comes near and slaps him on the back and says as if reading his mind (which does not consider going to London now, of all times, a good idea), "Dude that is awesome! You should totally go!"  
"But-"  
"No dude, take a break."  
"Bu-"  
"Yes Stiles," Alison chimes in, "Go."  
"B-"  
"No 'buts'", Scott turns towards the emcee, "When is he supposed to leave?"  
The emcee hands a ticket and says, "In three days. Young man, I hope you have a passport?"  
"Yeah yeah he does," Scott answers on his behalf.

Three days pass in a blur. From failing to locate where he had kept his passport to packing at the last minute to his father making him promise to call him everyday—Stiles was beat by the time his departure day arrived.  
Scott and his father drove him to the airport. His father held back tears ("He has never been out of Beacon Hills without me. What if something happens to him?"). Uh huh, Stiles thought, as if _nothing_ happens to him here. Scott had hugged him and wished him well (he was going on a trip, not to Mordor).  
So after an aching, sleepless seventeen hour flight, he finally lands at Heathrow Airport. He stretches and yawns. It is morning here. He spots this diminutive blonde woman holding a sign bearing his name. He walks up to her and introduces himself, "Hi I am Stiles."  
"Oh. You are so young." She looks surprised.  
"Well, seventeen to be exact."  
"Oh. My name is Lillian Coles"  
"So…"  
"Oh yes. You must be tired. Let me take you to the hotel."  
"Sure."  
During the drive to his hotel, he had totally forgotten the promise he had made to himself—that he will not behave like the typical American tourist in UK. But nope. He has his face pressed to the glass (well nearly pressed). He is taking in his sights like the greedy little boy he is feeling inside. But he really cannot stop himself. He takes out his camera and starts shooting. Well, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. This may never happen again. And when you live in Beacon Hills, you ought to grab life by the horns and enjoy it—his tourist self reasoned with his logical self. Yes, he will enjoy this trip. No supernatural things going bump in the night here. Yay.

**A/N. Yes I am aware people do not randomly win trips to London through a movie trivia quiz, so suspension of belief is recommended. Hehehehe. **


	6. Chapter Five

Molly pushes the door with some trepidation. Her first day at work, as a werewolf. If the smell of death was subtle previously, it is now assaulting her senses like never before. She sniffs the air. There is another scent. Like clean soap and musky books. Added to that is something else she cannot figure out. It almost makes her mouth water. Her heart lurches to her feet when she sees the ever familiar presence in her lab.  
So the scent is Sherlock. Goodness he smells wonderful. Well, he smelt great to her even when she was human, but now it is totally different. Are those butterflies in her stomach? She shakes her head. Stop it Molly, she scolds herself. Sherlock is hunched over a microscope. He has not realized she is here. A perk of being a werewolf then. She clears her throat.  
He whips around. At first his face is passive, and then he notices there is something different about her. He cannot figure out what that is. He says, "You didn't come by tomorrow."  
"Yeah. I wasn't feeling too great so I visited a friend." Molly says as she shrugs off her jacket. She had decided to wear this stupid girly blouse a friend her gifted her on one birthday.  
"I have some blood samples, I would like them to be tested." If he figures out she is lying, he does not say anything.  
"Okay." And he leaves. She holds her breath till she is sure he has left the building. As soon as he leaves, she takes a deep breath. His scent still lingers here.  
"Argh!" she flails her hands.

Stiles looks around for a place to eat. After the ubiquitous tourist sightseeing done, he finds himself in east London, hungry and maybe, a little lost. And completely jetlagged, not to forget. After walking around a bit, he finally finds a little bistro which looked welcoming enough. He pushes the door and as his gaze wanders around the spacious interior all done in earthy tones, his eyes falls on two people sitting down for lunch. The woman looks to be in her mid-thirties and the man looks very familiar. Stiles halts in his track. Said man looks up and he exclaims, rising from his seat, "Stiles?"  
"Jackson?"  
The woman turns to him and smiles, "You are Stiles Stilinski then?"  
Stiles looks at her in surprise. She laughs, "Sorry Jackson told me about you. My name is Molly Hooper. Please take a seat."  
Stiles slides in and Jackson asks, "Hey what are you doing here?"  
"Huh. Long story." Stiles begins narrating his quizzing experience.  
Jackson smiles, "So what is happening in Beacon Hills?"  
Stiles smirks, "Just Beacon Hills or Lydia?"  
"Both."  
Stiles looks at Molly and hesitates. Jackson says, "Don't worry, she is a werewolf."  
"Oh." Jackson has made friends here. He thought no supernatural happenings and now he is having lunch with two werewolves. Awesome. He just cannot catch a break now can he?  
Stiles gives a brief history about the Alpha pack and druids and the darach. He especially does not miss to mention Lydia and Aidan's 'relations'. He observes with some satisfaction the hardening of Jackson's jaws at that special update.  
Molly listens to the narrative with eyes wide in horror and mouth opened in awe. Here she though there were only werewolves. Now she is learning about druids and whatnots. And judging by the story, she thinks she does not want to go to Beacon Hills any sooner, thank you very much.  
Molly says after Stiles finishes, "Lovely place Beacon Hills."  
"Yeah." Stiles smiles.  
Jackson leans forward and rests his elbows on the table top. He says, "Good thing you are here. She is a new at this werewolf thing, like been-bitten-yesterday new. The full moon is in three days, I need your help."  
Stiles really wants to bang his head on the table now.

Sherlock does not find her in the lab. Someone said she is out for lunch. He deduces she must be at that bistro two blocks down. He starts walking there.  
As he reaches the entrance, he stops. He spots Molly sitting with two boys. One muscular with closely cropped dark blonde hair and the other, lanky and dark brown hair sticking out in every direction. They do not look any older than eighteen. He frowns.  
Everything is different about her today. He cannot deny that when she had taken off her jacket in the lab he had noticed the difference. She looked more…shapely. Or maybe it was the blouse. But the pencil skirt she wore showed off her calves and posterior and he could say with great conviction they looked more curved than usual. Her skin too was glowing, and her hair looked shinier than before. He wonders what is going on. And now she is laughing and having her lunch with two teenagers.  
He decides to go wait at St Barts and send her a text. This new Molly is mystifying him too much.


	7. Chapter Six

Molly laughs at another joke of Stiles when her mobile beeps. She takes it out, a new message. From Sherlock. "Oh shoot the blood sample," she mutters under her breath.  
"Blood sample?" Jackson queries.  
"Blood sample?" Stiles startles.  
Jackson smirks, "She is a pathologist."  
"Oh so you work with dead bodies," Stiles says to Molly. She nods and smiles.  
She rises and says, "Excuse me boys, I need to go back to the lab. Insufferable Mr. Holmes needs me there. Bye!"  
After she leaves, Stiles asks Jackson, "Who is Mr. Holmes?"  
"Google him. You won't regret it." Jackson smirks.  
"By the way what makes you think I will help you," Stiles leans forwards, "We aren't friends remember? I didn't mention this in front of her which doesn't mean I am willing to assist you."  
Jackson rolls his eyes and clasps his fingers on his lap. He sighs, "Look I know how you helped Scott. And I want Molly to do this right. You are the best help I can ever get. Besides, Derek of course."  
Stiles narrows his eyes, "You know she is quite older than you right?"  
Jackson gapes open mouthed at him, shaking his head, "What?"  
"You sweet on her? I mean she is all cute and everything with that pixie nose and all."  
"Stiles, shut up. She is like an elder sister to me."  
"Oh," now Stiles understands. But Jackson continues.  
He puts his hands on the table, "Look when I came to London, I had no one. Well technically I have relatives here, but I don't like them. Molly helped me a lot. From getting hang of British currency and public transport to my studies. She even took care of me when I was sick. Once I got into a fight and broke my knee. If she didn't show up that day and know about the werewolf thing, I would have ended up in a hospital and declared a scientific curiosity. So, yeah. I owe her this much."  
Stiles stares at him, digesting all this in. Jackson the grateful one, he had never thought that could be possible. He says, "Wow, you have changed."  
"Well if you were a lizard monster killing around people on somebody's command, it would change something in you too."  
Stiles looks down at the table. Yes, he is starting to understand this guy in front of him. He sighs, "Here I thought I was getting a break from all things supernatural."  
Jackson grins, "You are Stiles Stilinski, you can never catch a break."  
Stiles glares at him for awhile, but deep down acknowledging that something is definitely wrong with him. He always ends up in situations like this. Always.  
"So cute pixie nose?" Jackson asks, with a wolfish grin, "Isn't she a little old for you?"  
"Oh shut up. I knew you haven't changed!"  
Well, yeah, Stiles mused silently, she is kinda cute. He shakes his head, what is he even…nope too old for him.

Molly rushes in, only to find Sherlock leaning against the table with a stony look on his handsome face. She knows she is in a whole lot of trouble. She should have done the testing and then left for lunch, not the other way around. But Jackson had came along and suggested they lunch together and she went along. He is such an adorable kid; she could not possibly refuse him. And now she will pay the price.  
A new scent hits her nose. She sniffs the air. Tobacco. She mimics his expression and says, "Have you been smoking?"  
Her words have shocked him are apparent when he straightens up and his eyes go wide in surprise. He thinks how could she possibly know? He had smoked outside, he was bored waiting for her.  
She asks, "Aren't you on nicotine patches?"  
"Not right now," he replies, "But how did you know?"  
Oh shit, Molly starts to sweat. No showing off her werewolf skills, she had promised. She stammers, "U-uh never mind. I will get to the samples."  
She shakes slightly as she gets to work. She says, "I-I didn't think it was that urgent. I-I mean you did not specify if it was. I am sorry."  
His nervous pathologist makes an appearance again. He wants to ask about those two teenagers, but he refrains as he feels that Molly would not appreciate the fact that he was spying on her. Idle chitchat later, he needs that blood sample tested.  
She puts the blood in the mass spectrometer and waits for the results. Sherlock is standing away, unlike other times when he would be breathing down her neck, asking in that deadly baritone of his what was taking her so long. She gives him a tiny glance behind her back. He is busy texting someone, apparently. She looks down the blood slide on the microscope. She frowns. The red blood cells are behaving differently. It looks like they are regenerating, or trying to. So that is why Sherlock came to her. She waits patiently by her computer for the results.  
The monitor pings and she leans down to check the results. Her eyes go wide in surprise. It says it is a DNA cocktail of human and lupine. It does not take her long to figure out that the blood came from a werewolf. She shields the monitor with her body as she hears Sherlock shift and walk towards her. She panics. He cannot under any circumstances know this.  
It is too late. Sherlock is already breathing down her neck, staring straight at the screen. She feels the panic rise in waves again. She tries calming down. She decides to concentrate on Sherlock's heartbeat instead. It is a dull thudding sound which manages to calm her down a little.  
Sherlock tries to, but fails to incredibly. He cannot help but notice the Chanel No. 5 on her. And the smell that is specially her. Coffee, woolen sweaters and disinfectant. It is not all that bad. He leans in more and sniffs, his breathing getting heavier and his heart pounding a bit faster now. He drags his attention to the screen when the glint of her diamond ring catches his eyes.  
Molly hears the distinct shift in his breathing pattern and heart rate. Does he suspect something already? She tries desperately to stop the hair on her neck sticking up so much. You are engaged for God's sakes, she scolds herself, you STIIL CANNOT be attracted to Sherlock Holmes.  
He frowns as he looks at the screen. She hears Molly asking, "What case is this?"  
He says, "An animal attack victim that came in yesterday."  
She says, her voice shaking slightly, "Did a wolf attack him?"  
"Maybe. If there are wild wolfs roaming around in east London."  
Molly jerks her head up. East London? That means around here. A fuzzy memory tries to rise to the surface. But she cannot entirely fathom it. It is there but beyond her reach.  
Sherlock notices the look of extreme concentration on her face. She is trying to remember something. Does she know anything about this? He asks, "Molly?"  
Molly snaps out of it and says, "What?"  
"What are you thinking?"  
"U-umm nothing. Nothing Sherlock, I-I need to go home. I uh, don't feel so great."  
Sherlock looks on in suspicion as she collects her things and hurries out of the door. He was right, there is more to this case than wild wolves roaming around in London. But what?

Molly walks to her apartment and halts in her tracks when she spots a tall man in a dark coat standing at her entrance. What? How did he—the man turns around, it is Tom. She sighs deeply, feeling slightly relieved. But not entirely. This is her fiancé Tom, someone she has not talked with properly since John and Mary's wedding.  
Tom sees her. He smiles, "Hey you. Where have you been? I called you so many times yesterday. Everything okay?" He pulls her into his embrace. Molly sighs again. She really hates this. His kindness and total tolerance towards her. She was ready to move on. And then _he_ came back from the dead. Now her feelings were going haywire.  
She murmurs, "I am okay." No she is far from okay. She is a werewolf and previously she was trying really hard not to jump Sherlock's bones as her engagement ring glared at her. She sighs again. She has to put a stop to this. She is not happy with this.  
"Tom, I have been thinking." She pulls away from his embrace.  
He asks, "Yes?"  
"Are you happy?"  
"Why? Aren't you?"  
"Honestly? No, Tom."  
Tom sighs, "Is it him?"  
Molly frowns. How could he possibly know? Her incredulous expression betrays her feelings as Tom says, "I am not entirely stupid you know. It took me some time, but it was obvious. I am just a replacement."  
Molly sniffs, trying to hold back her tears. She is breaking off the engagement and he is still being nice to her. "Tom," she whispers, "I-"  
"Do you love him?"  
Her shoulders droop. She answers honestly, "I don't know."  
Tom puts his hands on her shoulder and kisses her forehead. "Goodbye then."  
"Tom wait," Molly pulls out the ring from her finger and places it in his palm, "Take it. I don't deserve it."  
Tom hesitates but takes it. He nods his head slightly and walks away with a sad smile on his face.  
The tears she had been holding break free and run down her cheeks. Love sometimes is so unfair.

**A/N. I am no werewolf doctor so...yeah.**


	8. Chapter Seven

Molly enters her flat, her heart heavy and her brain whirring. She is fighting between the urge to mourn the end of her engagement in a glass of wine and her curiosity—how did Sherlock get the blood sample in the first place? And from where? Damn it, she curses herself. She should have asked around about the animal attack victim. Maybe she can call Lestrade.  
She puts down her purse on the couch and takes out her phone. She sits down and puts up her feet on the coffee table. She dials his number. She twirls a strand of hair around her finger. Her eyes fall on the calendar on the table. The full moon is in two days. Her first time. Terrific.  
Lestrade picks up the phone, "Molly?"  
"Yeah. Hi. Umm I need to ask you something."  
"Sure. Go ahead."  
"I heard there was an animal attack victim that came in recently?"  
"Yeah. Guy named Igor Jablonski. Dr. Raffles did the autopsy. How did you hear about it?"  
"Yeah," Molly tries to find an excuse, "Sherlock was complaining about Dr. Raffles."  
She hears him laugh. She had successfully sold the lie. She laughs softly too. Then Lestrade asks, "Why, are you interested? But Dr Raffles took care of it."  
"No no," she panics, "It is just that it happened around here. So I was just concerned about-"  
"Yeah don't worry Molly, the animal control guys are on it."  
"Oh. Okay. Thank you. Goodnight Greg."  
"Goodnight." He disconnects.  
She runs her fingers through her hair and rises from her seat. She strolls in to the kitchen to get that glass of wine, her mind wandering. She can safely assume Sherlock had stolen the blood sample. But what bothers her is why would Sherlock steal the blood in the first place? What does he know?  
And this attack happened on the day she was bitten. She thinks as if her fuzzy memory and this incident were connected. But for now, she cannot join the dots.  
She comes back to the couch and sits down. Her eyes fall on the calendar again. A shiver runs down her arms again. She will turn for the very first time. She stands up and goes into her kitchen again. One glass just would not do tonight.

Gustav wakes up with a start. Again that nightmare. A werewolf and a dead body, slashed to ribbons on the ground. Usually that body is his.  
He sits up on his bed and stares into the darkness trying to remember where he is. Oh yeah he is at this hotel he owns. Running and hiding from Augustus Lowndes. Why is he even afraid of that guy? He is an Alpha and that guy is a Beta. A Beta cannot win against an Alpha. But still Augustus manages to scare him good because he is a killer. He has heard stories about how Igor had used Augustus to wipe off the southern factions that were warring against Igor. Plus Augustus with his cold intelligence always scared him more than Igor with his brute force.  
He rubs his face. He sighs as he regrets engaging in that very public display of hatred four days before with Igor himself.  
The packs had met for a conference, for 'discussions' (Gustav felt these meetings is a farce, as if anyone will sacrifice bloodlust for 'discussions'!). Gustav had started construction on a waterfront property apparently too close to Igor's property. The meeting had turned into a fight in less than a minute. It had only ceased when Augustus had his claws on his neck, looking down at him with those cold, hard eyes. The look that Augustus had given him—he could never forget it.  
He slams back down on his pillows again. He needs to come with a counterattack but he had no idea how to even begin. He is wondering if you even win against a man like Augustus Lowndes. He hears a sound. He sits up again. Someone knocks on the door. He says, "Come in."  
A woman enters, "Miles is dead. Lowndes and the pack got to him. They attacked the penthouse."  
He rubs his face. Miles was one of his best men. He flings off his covers and leaps to his feet. He stands up straight and says, "Get everyone to Hertfordshire NOW! None of us are safe here."  
"Everyone?"  
"YES!"  
She leaves and walks down the corridor; chewing her lips in despair as to how will she ever manage to transport thirty-one werewolves to Hertfordshire.  
Gustav starts dressing. He grabs the keys to his car and rushes out. As he gets to the parking lot opposite to the hotel, he sees a familiar person in a red jacket walk by him. Said person is too distracted, but Gustav gets a sudden inspiration.

Augustus stands over the dead man previously known as Miles, his claws are dripping with blood. Vlad and Irina are turning the penthouse upside down. No use, Gustav Akraka is not here, but he is sure the news has reached him.  
Irina comes back and stands beside him. She says, "Nothing here."  
"I know. We leave for Hertfordshire," Augustus says, considering his information is right.  
"Whatever for?" Vlad asks. Augustus rolls his eyes. Whatever potential did Igor see in this guy when he turned him? He sighs and walks away.  
Irina smacks Vlad lightly on his hands as if to say not to question the boss. Vlad growls softly. He does not like his new boss one bit.

The inspiration he had now transformed into a plan in the two hours it took to get here. Gustav is now enclosed in his office, with a bottle of bourbon at his side. He will wait for Augustus here. He makes a call first, "Hello? Yeah, tell the others to step down and leave." Protests on the other end. "No no I know what I am doing. Just do as I say," more protests, "Please. Okay? Okay."  
He puts down the phone and stares out of the window. He can see the hills from here. Now let the waiting game begin.

Augustus stands at the property's edge. It is very scenic. Rolling hills on one side and woods on the other. The same woods where the three of them are hiding. The moonlight gives it a certain ambience. He looks up at the moon. The full moon is on the day after tomorrow, he notes.  
He walks up to the porch. He hears Irina say, "Don't you think it is too quiet?"  
Augustus nods. Vlad says, "Is this a trap?"  
Augustus says, "I don't know."  
He rings the doorbell. He allows himself a grin when he sees the looks on the faces of his companions. A pretty girl with large blue eyes opens the door. She looks at them with eyes wide in fear. Augustus dons his best crowd-pleaser smile and says, "I am Augustus. I am here to see Gustav."  
She gulps, "He is upstairs, in the study," she moves to make way for them, "Go upstairs, it is the second door on the right."  
They walk in. Augustus turns the girl, "Thank you, uh you didn't give me your name."  
"Goldie." She even blushes. Irina scowls."Thank you Goldie. You have very pretty eyes." Goldie giggles. Irina's scowl deepens. Vlad just rolls his eyes.  
They walk up the stairs and turn left. Sure enough Gustav stands at the study door with a complacent smile. He says, "Hello Augustus."  
"Hello Gustav. Ready to die?" As if on cue, Vlad and Irina start growling, their eyes glowing and claws out.  
Gustav gives a shaky laugh, "Oh come on. I didn't kill Igor. What could I possibly achieve by killing him? Come in, have a drink and I will tell you a secret." He waves them in his study. They walk in, eyes still glaring at him.  
He starts speaking again after they are seated, "I didn't kill Igor. But I know who did."  
"Who?"  
"Jackson Whittemore."  
Vlad asks, "Who is that?"  
Augustus answers, "A lone wolf. He is not affiliated to any pack."  
"We—Igor and I—tried recruiting him but he refused-"  
Irina rises from her seat, "Liar! Why would he kill Igor?"  
"Because he is forming his own pack! We all killed or maimed when we were forming our own packs!"  
"And how do you know all this?" Augustus asks in a cool voice, rubbing his lower lip.  
Gustav hesitates when he sees the gleam in Augustus's eyes. He lies, "He tried to kill me too."  
Augustus rises and signals the other two to leave the room. After they leave, he puts his hands on Gustav's shoulders and leans. He brings his mouth to his ears and says, "Good for you. Now I don't kill you. But yeah, congratulations, you are an excellent liar." And he leaves throwing one smirk at Gustav over his shoulders.  
Gustav collapses on his chair and pours himself a drink. That took way too much effort. What did he mean by that? If Augustus knew he was indeed lying then why did he not do anything? He takes a sip and thanks all heavens for Jackson Whittemore to walk by him in his red jacket. The American now shall regret not coming to his pack. He takes another sip.

Augustus joins the other two outside. They walk in silence through the woods till they reach their car. Irina asks, "Now what?"  
"Spread word. Augustus Lowndes wants to find Jackson Whittemore, Igor Jablonski's killer."


	9. Chapter Eight

Stiles makes an excuse and gets two days free. Lillian Coles was miffed—she had colour coordinated their schedule and all. But today is the full moon. He has given his word to Jackson. Yes, he really had no wish to do so. And no, he does not miss the supernatural. Not really. Nope.  
He decides to go back to the bistro he had met Jackson for lunch. He occupies a seat beside the window and sits down. The bistro has al fresco dining as well. Stiles gives his order and sits back in his chair. A sudden movement catches his attention. Two men take a seat outside, directly beside the window seat he has occupied. Stiles gives them a brief glance. Both men are very tall and muscular. One looks much younger than the other. The younger one looks very excited while the older man looks one hundred percent done with his companion.  
The waitress comes back with his order. He takes a mouthful of spaghetti and he nearly chokes on it when he hears one of the two men say, "Jackson Whittemore, eh?"  
Stiles whips his head around. It is the younger man who said so. The older man growls a little, sighs exasperatedly and says, "Listen kid, stay away from this. Gus wants this guy's head on a platter. Leave the killing to the professionals. You stay out of this."  
"But dad, I liked Igor as well and if Jackson Whittemore killed him, don't I get to do some avenging?"  
"No kid, you do not. Your mom will kill me if she gets to know I took you with me. So nope. Don't even think about it anymore."  
Stiles eavesdrops, his eyes widening in horror at every word. What is happening? He tries stealing a look at the father-son duo again. He memorizes their faces. Jackson killed someone? He shakes his head. Sure lizard Jackson could kill people, he just could not envision wolf Jackson killing people. He puts down his spoon, his appetite lost. He needs to talk to Jackson.  
He dials Jackson's number. He picks it up at the third ring, "Stilinski."  
"Hey have you been killing people again?"

The sun is going to set soon. Every werewolf in London prepares for the moon to rise and change them. Put them in immense agony as their bones rearrange and flesh burns so they could be their true self tonight. Some are taking help from trusted helpers to bind them in chains. Some are locking themselves up in rooms with a ring of mountain ash or wolfsbane at the entrance.  
Jackson waits for Stiles in his apartment. Molly has started her pacing again. Jackson wishes he could tell her something but he has no words. He sits down on his couch and goes over the conversation he had with Stiles a few hours ago.

"Hey have you been killing people again?" Stiles asked.  
"What?" Jackson whispered incredulously.  
"Yeah. You heard right. Did you kill anyone recently? Had any blackouts?"  
"Stiles...Shut up, or I will kill you. What are you even talking about?"  
"I just overheard two guys, possibly werewolves take your name and this guy's name who is most probably dead and apparently you killed him!"  
"What!"  
"Yeah, guy named Igor is dead and guy named Gus is looking for you."  
Silence had followed when Stiles had dropped that name. Jackson knew him. Igor had tried bringing him into his pack. But the name Gus struck cold fear in his heart. If it is Igor, then it must be Augustus 'Gus' Lowndes. They had met once. It was not a pleasant meeting. And Jackson knew the stories about him.  
He said, "We will talk later." He had disconnected and put his face in his palms. He was not the praying kind but he understood that today—the full moon night—would keep him alive for now. But tomorrow…he has to find a way.

He snaps out his thoughts when the bell rings. Molly goes to open it. It is Stiles. Jackson stands up and gives him a small smile. Deep down he had doubted whether or not Stiles would show up.  
Stiles smiles back at him. He can almost guess what Jackson is thinking. Jackson tilts his head towards Molly, "If you would-"  
"Yeah sure." Molly grabs a box from behind the couch. A medium sized box with an intricate design on the top. Stiles looks quizzically at it. Jackson says, "Mountain ash. Derek sends me some every three months. Earlier Molly would draw the boundary line but…"  
"But," Stiles finishes, "She is a werewolf now."  
Jackson nods his head. He gestures Stiles to take the box. Stiles reaches out and takes it. He looks down at it and says, "What about after I leave?"  
Jackson sighs, "I don't know. I will find a way. But for now, since you are the one I trust the most, you will do."  
"Aw Jackson, thank you so much."  
Molly giggles at this exchange. They turn their heads to look at her. She clears her throat, "So? What next?"  
"I will chain you two first in two separate rooms and then draw a line along the entrance and windows. It will hurt and sting, but it is all necessary," Stiles says.  
Molly feels nervous and scared. She only heard "hurt and sting". She startles when she feels a warm hand on her shoulder. She looks up to see Stiles smiling down at her. He says, "Well I am no expert, but my best friend says it gets better with time."  
"Does your best friend turn twice in a month?" Molly says rolling her eyes.  
"Uh no. I promise to do look that up. I have no experience with female werewolves, honestly speaking."  
"Awesome," Molly takes a deep breath, "I need to go feed Toby. Wait for me."  
Stiles realizes he still has his hands on her shoulder. While Molly hardly notices, Stiles gets embarrassed and blushes as he removes it.  
Jackson does not miss it. As soon as Molly is out of the door, he smirks, "So you have something for cute pixie noses?"  
Stiles gives his best death glare.

Molly figures it has something to do with the fact she is a werewolf now. This realization strikes her when she gets close to Toby, her cat. He hisses and tries running away every time she would come close to him or try to pet him. She feels her heart breaking as her feline avoids her. Well Toby is a feline and she is a supernatural vulpine at the most. And aren't vulpines and canines nearly related?  
She sheepishly places Toby's dish by the refrigerator and leaves with a sigh. Abandonment by Toby is the last thing she wanted on earth. Who will she cry with—okay Toby acted more as a warm and furry napkin at the most—when Sherlock is all mean again? She sighs again as she enters Jackson's apartment. The boys are standing in the middle of the room glaring at each other.  
"What's going on here?" Molly asks.  
"I think," Stiles says, "That you need the stronger chains."  
"But I think," Jackson says, "You don't require to be bound so tightly."  
Molly frowns. She is at sea here. She says, "I don't understand."  
Stiles sighs, "You are a new werewolf. You are more dangerous than our veteran here."  
Jackson crosses his arm and scowls, "Molly would not hurt a fly. She won't-"  
"No, Stiles is right. I'd prefer to listen to him on this. I have never done this before, remember?"  
"Okay then!" Stiles says. Jackson just shrugs his shoulders.  
Stiles directs Molly towards the spare bedroom and points her to the floor. She nods and sits down. She notices an iron ring constructed into the hardwood floor. She also notices the chain beside it. She gulps. She is so not prepared. She has some choice words to say if she ever meets her maker.  
Stiles first binds Jackson. He puts some mountain ash on the window ledge and then some on the door. He locks the door and puts the key in his pockets. He enters Molly's room. She is sitting, hugging her knees and muttering.  
He leans down and asks in a soft voice, "What are you doing?"  
"Praying. I hardly go to church and here I am praying."  
Stiles smiles, "Happens. Ready?"  
She nods. Her brown eyes wide with fear. Stiles first cuffs her wrists and then her ankles. Then he takes the chain and tugs on it. When he sees her wincing, he says, "There, strong enough."  
He winds the chain around the ring and locks it with a padlock. He stands up and repeats his mountain ash sprinkling actions. He allows himself a grin when he realizes that at seventeen, he had become such a pro at this. How many seventeen year olds know all this?  
He walks up to the door and draws a line at the entrance. He says, "Uh, best of luck."  
Molly snorts. She really cannot help herself. She smiles at Stiles anyway. He closes the door. She hears him lock the door. She tugs at her chains, wincing again as the cuffs live a prominent bruise on her wrist. She leans back and looks around the room. It is quite small. Jackson stores miscellaneous items here or items he does not know what to do with. A broken X-box, a few destroyed textbooks, a box of clothes, etc., etc. There is a tiny window opposite her. She can make out the moon, hiding behind the clouds. Moonrise is in a few minutes now. In addition to her already beating heart, she feels funny in her stomach. She tries taking a deep breath. She does not know how, but she feels it is time.  
She is right. After a breathless five minutes, the funny sensation in her stomach becomes more prominent. She feels the adrenaline rushing through her system, preparing her for her ordeal. Any moment now…She does not know what to expect yet.  
She gets her answer in the next five minutes when the moon finally comes out from behind the clouds. As the silver white light softly enters the room and falls on her face, she feels it.  
First she feels her skin crawling and her bones vibrating. She keels over—the pain hits her like a punch to the gut. Her eyes sting next. She wants to keep them closed, but they blink open on their own. She can feel them expanding. No wonder they are amber by now. She had thought earlier that the room was too dark, but now the room feels like as if it is filled by sunlight, not moonlight. And that light stings, a lot. Next her jaws hurt. She opens them, gasping in pain. She can feel her canines elongating. The skin crawling sensation returns, this time travelling up her arms, the side of her face and her feet. She looks down at her feet. It is covered by soft brown fur.  
Beside the fur, she sees her toenails are no longer short. They are now massive, sharp and curved. She jerks her foot which leaves a deep scratch mark on the floor. She pulls up her hands to her face, her fingernails are the same.  
A fleeting wave crashes on her chest. It rises up her throat. She opens her mouth and a low guttural sound escapes from her sound box. The wave rises again. And this time she opens her mouth wider and the low sound is replaced by a growl which gets louder as her bones start rearranging themselves. She growls louder still. She tries sitting on her haunches but the chains restrict her. The cuffs cut in deeper and she smells her own blood. She keeps pulling on them. They cut deeper and deeper into her skin. But she hardly notices that, her only thought is now to break free.  
The adrenaline which was pumping hard and fast in her body reaches a crescendo. Her heart beat rises to such a level that it would have killed a normal human being by now. A burst of strength courses through her and after a final pull, she finally breaks free.  
The chains break and she launches forward. But the mountain ash stops her. As soon as she hits the door, she ricochets back at the impact. Her growls get wilder as her desperation rises. She crashes against the door again, but to no avail. She falls back again.  
Stiles sits in the living room, chewing his nails. He is currently in an enclosed space with two werewolves on a full moon night. If that is not a suicide wish, he does not know what else it could be. He startles when he hears the door of Molly's room shaking. She has broken free of her chains then. Terrific news, he thinks. They need to buy stronger chains. While Jackson is growling and he could occasionally hear the chains rattling in his room, Molly has totally wolfed out. Stiles flashbacks to the first time he had seen Scott changing. He shudders a little. Thank goodness for mountain ash. He leans back on the couch and wishes morning cannot come soon enough.

Molly finally stops hitting the door when her animal side reasons that it is of no use. She falls back and curls up in a corner. She occasionally thrashes about and prowls around the room on all fours. Near daybreak, her muscles feel tired and her head feels heavy. She retreats to a corner and lies down.

Stiles wakes up with a start. His alarm shrieks on. He cannot remember where his phone is at. Or for a brief moment, where he is. He rubs his eyes and things become a little clear. He is at Jackson's place and he needs to find his phone. Whose idea was it to set the alarm to the song 'Baby'?  
"Stiles if you don't turn that off, I will kill you," Jackson shouts from his closed bedroom door.  
Stiles finally finds his phone. It had somehow managed to get behind the couch. He finally switched it off. No more Justin Beiber at seven in the morning.  
"Stiles, you awake?" Molly says, her voice muffled.  
Stiles unlocks her first. He tries to cover the gasp he had coming. The room is in pieces. Well almost, as if a tiny cyclone had passed through it. Boxes have been overturned, clothes torn to shreds and scratch marks everywhere. He sees the broken chains and gulps. Molly sees the look on his face. She wraps the shawl tighter around her and stares down at her now normal feet. She says apologetically, "Um, sorry."  
Stiles shake his head, "Uh happens." He stalks away and goes to unlock Jackson.  
Jackson comes out. He looks over at Molly who is still staring at her feet. He says, "Are you okay?"  
"Yeah," she says, "I will have to deal with this for the rest of my life now."  
"Yeah," Stiles mutters. A loud growl interrupts the moment. Molly laughs. The sound came from Stiles stomach. She says, "Okay boys. Let's go over to my apartment. I am in the pancake making mood!"

After Jackson finishes his seventh pancake, he hears a noise and a faintly familiar scent. The sounds are coming from his apartment. He looks at Molly. She had heard it too. She puts down the pancake batter bowl and walks to her door. She peeks through her peephole. She says under her breath as Jackson joins her, "Jackson there is a guy standing at your door."  
Stiles, who was busy stuffing his face, notices the two werewolves muttering at the door. He walks up to them and asks, "What is going on?"  
"Here," Molly says and makes space for him to look through the peephole. Stiles does a double take. He hears Jackson saying, "He is a wolf. We can smell him."  
"Yup. It is the guy I saw at the bistro yesterday." Stiles knows he cannot be mistaken. It is the younger guy, the son. The guy looks around him once and then leaves.  
Molly says, "What guy? You know him?"  
Stiles looks at Jackson, "She doesn't know?"  
"Know what?"  
Jackson sighs, "Igor Jablonski, an Alpha is dead. And his pack thinks I killed him."  
Molly frowns. She has heard the name somewhere, but she fails to remember now. Instead she asks, "But why would they think you killed him?"  
"I had an altercation with Igor when he tried recruiting me in his pack for the third time. Igor-"  
Molly cries, "Igor Jablonski?"  
"What about him?"  
"His body had come to St Barts for autopsy. I was supposed to be doing it but I was bitten the day before so…"  
Stiles strokes his chin, "Jackson hasn't killed anyone. But someone is spreading the rumours. Molly can you ask around the hospital?"  
"Sure I can. My shift starts in a few hours."  
"Cool. We need to prove Jackson is innocent. I mean two werewolves against a pack is hardly fair."  
Jackson puts his hands in his pocket. He mutters, "I cannot go back to my place."  
Molly speaks up, "Stay with me for the time being," Jackson starts protesting. Molly puts her palm up, "No, no excuses. I am not letting you stay on your own and then getting killed. Okay?"  
Jackson sheepishly nods his head. She turns to Stiles, "You too can stay here if you want. I have a small spare room and the sofa in my living room can transform into a bed. So?"  
"I need to think about this. I am not here on my own, you know," Stiles says  
"I know. But the invitation remains. You boys have been so helpful; I'd hate anything to happen to you two."  
She smiles at them both. Her heart swells in affection. She had hardly realized when she had adopted these two as her own brothers. She never had any siblings, so having some surrogate ones did not hurt.

Molly pushes the doors to her lab with the file on Igor Jablonski pressed to her chest. She plans to go into her office and read this thoroughly. It has been proved that Igor was indeed a werewolf, and a powerful one at that.  
She nearly yelps when she sees Sherlock perched on a stool, peering at a test tube clutched in his fingers. In her surprised state, the file falls to the floor. Sherlock notices her. He sees the file, he frowns when he sees the name and picture on top. She mumbles something and picks up the file. She retreats to her office.  
Sherlock puts down the test tube. The Igor Jablonski case is not hers. Dr Raffles had taken over and finished all the paperwork. But as far as everyone was concerned, the case was closed. No one is invested in this case anymore. Yes, the search for the blonde male and the redhead female is still on but there has been no progress in that matter. So why is his pathologist concerned?  
First her inherent lying that day. Next this. He turns around as she comes back into her lab. He sees her putting her lab coat on and tying her long brown hair in a ponytail. He notices her empty ring finger.  
He finds himself saying, "Your engagement is over."  
Molly turns around and opens her mouth to say something. She looks down at her naked ring finger and a small wave of renewed guilt crashes over her. She mutters, "Yes. It is over."  
"Did he break it off?"  
"No. I did."  
"May I ask why?"  
Molly gnashes her teeth. Of course he knows that she knows that he knows why. At least she is certain he must know a part of the reason why. She says, "I don't see how you must be concerned."  
Sherlock narrows his eyes. He is right then. He returns his attention to his experiment and says, "No concern at all. Just making conversation I suppose."  
Molly frowns. What? She says aloud, "You? Making conversation? That is so unlike you."  
Sherlock turns back his attention to her again. Molly has never ever talked to him like this. It is like she had developed a new personality or something. He stares at her and she stares back at him with warm but defiant brown eyes. He registers his surprise in the back of his mind. This is new to him too. She, previously, had hardly managed to look straight at him and now she is holding his gaze with confidence. First the slight physical changes, then the lying and now this. His pathologist is becoming a puzzle he is dying to solve.  
Molly thinks she will go into cardiac arrest soon now. His too-beautiful-to-look-at eyes are boring into her. But she is not standing down either. She almost looks away when a tiny but loud voice in her head coaxes her not to break eye contact. She could never hold his gaze for too long before. Hell, she could not even look straight at him and now she is locked in a staring contest with him. But the voice persists. She shall christen it 'the wolf' in her. She really cannot find a rational reason behind her sudden confidence boost.  
She sees him backing down first. He looks down at his experiment again. She sighs at her little victory. She walks over to him and asks, "Do you need any help?"  
"No," he mutters. His eyes are glued to the microscope. He reaches out to grab another glass slide. But he manages to knock over a test tube rack with test tubes and all to the ground.  
Molly jumps at the sound of glass shattering on the tiled floor. Sherlock looks up and then at the floor. He hears Molly mutter, "Oh Sherlock." She kneels down to pick up the broken pieces.  
Sherlock too kneels down to help her. Molly is so shocked by this—she accidentally cuts herself on a piece of glass. The piece slashes through her finger and blood spills on to the white floor. She stands up abruptly. He too stands up. He says condescendingly in that ridiculous baritone of his, "Molly, you need to be more careful." He reaches out to grasp her hand, but she backs away. She can already feel the wound healing. If Sherlock sees this…  
But it is too late. He finally manages to tug her hand free of her clasp. He frowns when he looks at her wound…or the absence of it. He sees the blood, but no wound. She stutters, "Uh i-it is nothing r-really," she wrenches her hand from his grip, "I will go call a cleaner." She makes a quick exit.  
After she leaves, Sherlock gets thinking. He had clearly seen the piece go into her skin, cutting it. He had seen the blood. But the absence of the wound mystified him. He looks down at the mess on the floor. Broken glass and blood. He gets an idea.


	10. Chapter Nine

"Man, we are so out of our depth," Stiles announces as he sits down on his bed with a bowl of chips. He is at his hotel with Jackson, who is pacing to and fro.  
The predicament they were in was getting messier still. Right after Molly left for work, three more werewolves came to visit—two men and a woman with shocking red hair. They had broken in Jackson's place and they had distinctly heard furniture being thrown around and doors slamming. Stiles, after the trio had left, dragged Jackson off to his hotel. Jackson had then told the tale of werewolves in London and their pack dynamics. Stiles had commented that these were not packs, they were cults.  
"I mean come on, we are not experts in how crazy packs like these work," Stiles says.  
Jackson stops pacing and looks at him, "What about the Alpha pack that came to visit?"  
"That was all Derek," Stiles stops talking, an idea forming in his mind, "Derek…"  
Jackson frowns, but then his frown starts clearing when he grasps Stiles train of thought. He says, "Derek."  
Stiles smiles. They were finally on the same page. He says, "He won't be delighted."  
"When is he ever delighted?"  
"Good one."

Sherlock runs up the stairs in 221B Baker Street, the blood sample in his pocket. He opens the door and rushes into the kitchen. He takes out his microscope and prepares a slide. He puts in the slide and looks at the sample he collected.  
Sherlock Holmes can count the times he had been truly astounded or confused on his hand. And as he adjusted the lens, he can safely say he is completely astounded and confused. He needs to go back to St Barts. He looks at his watch. He still has two hours. He can wait.

Molly sighs and sits down in her office. She massages her temples. She feels like screaming. The mishap at the lab a few hours ago still haunted her. If only she had not cut her hand in front of Sherlock. It was Sherlock Holmes, world's most curious human being. He will come back and he will have questions. He had left by the time she came back with the cleaner, but she knew this was far from over. The anticipation is killing her. Also she is wondering why he left. She shrugs her shoulders. She will never figure that man out. She sighs again.  
She picks up the file on Igor Jablonski again. It is mentioned there the place where he was found. She finally remembered that night. The dead body lying in the pool of blood. The other man standing over it. The other man is the one who bit her. She was there, an eyewitness. But the rest of the world believed it was an animal and not a werewolf. So who in their right mind would choose to believe her? But this also means that Jackson is innocent. Now if she could only prove this to others.  
She looks at her watch. Her shift is almost up. She cannot wait to go home. She hopes Stiles and Jackson had come up with something about the mess Jackson is in. She stands up and prepares to leave work.  
She wraps the scarf around her tighter, even though she is not feeling that cold. Another perk of being a werewolf, high body temperatures. She decides to walk home today taking the short cut which is a narrow alley—same alley where she was bitten. She agrees to herself that yes, she is taking this route because she wants to see it again, see if she could find something—anything. A clue as to who bit her.  
She slowly enters the alley and looks around. It is nearing twilight. There is light but the pathway is shrouded in shadows. But that does not hamper her. Her new eyesight is posing no problems. As far as she can see, there is nothing. No indication of the blood she remembers seeing. She allows a shudder to pass through her.  
She suddenly hears a sound behind her. Footsteps, there is someone following her. Her body releases adrenaline into her blood and prepares her for fight or flight. She chooses fight (blame it on her inner wolf).

She walks forward slowly, letting the footsteps come closer to her. Her heart beats loudly as her breathing slows down. She feels her eyes sting and her canines growing. She remembers Stiles saying that situations like these where her heart beat increases leads to transformation. He had said she would need to practice control. Well she will practice later. Right now she needs to defend herself.  
The footsteps are right behind her. She whips around in a flash. Her claws are out as she pushes the body into the wall. She grabs the neck and leans forward. Her heart drops to the ground when her eyesight adjusts to the face in front of her. It is Sherlock, whose face is etched into shock because he can see her glowing amber eyes.  
Sherlock stares at her, completely awestruck. Molly Hooper is now staring at him, equally surprised, except that she has glowing eyes and her teeth are huge. Also she had him pressed to the wall with immense strength. Strength he knew she did not possess previously. He is finding a little difficult to breathe. She finally lets him go.  
He stumbles a bit. He shakes his head. It is downright strange. He straightens up and says, "How?"  
"Come with me then if you want to know."  
"What was that? And your blood…"  
"So that is why you left. I was wondering," Molly wonders how she could sound absolutely normal when she is actually internally screaming.  
"But what…how…you?"  
"Do you believe in werewolves?"


	11. Chapter Ten

The phone rings. He does not even turn to look at it. He is not in the mood to talk to anyone. It is morning where he is. He tries to drink his coffee but gets interrupted. The phone starts ringing again. He slams the cup down on the table. The table gets a new stain when the coffee splashes over. He does not notice that. All he can think is who the hell can call him now when he had explicably told everyone who had his number not to call him this week. He needed some 'me' time. Away from juvenile Alphas, Alpha packs, druids and magical trees coming back to life. Plus he had his planning to do for his super personal mission.  
He picks up the phone from his bedside table and scowls at the name flashing on his screen. He wonders if it is worth picking it up or not. He groans and answers it anyway. He says, "What?"  
"Hello Derek. Hello to you too Stiles. How's London?"  
"Stiles," he says in a low voice hoping it manages to scare Stiles Stilinski but he doubts it.  
"So…how you doing?"  
"Stiles."  
"Okay grumpy cat. Listen as you might know I am in London and an old acquaintance of ours needs help."  
"Who?"  
"Derek?" another voice says.  
Derek recognizes it alright, "Jackson?"  
"How soon can you come to London?"

"What? Why do I need to go to London?" Derek says.  
Jackson rubs his face. He sighs and says, "I am in deep shit here in London."  
"Yeah you found Stiles. I understand."  
Jackson cannot help but laugh at this joke, "No that is not it. It is something else. I am a dead man Derek. I need an Alpha to help me."  
Derek goes silent. Stiles had not said anything then. He clears his throat, "Look Jackson-"  
"No I know. Let me rephrase I need an ex-Alpha to help me."  
He sighs, "Okay. I guess a little vacation would not hurt me." He disconnects fuming a little. Well he would need to go because if something happens to Stiles, Scott would never forgive him. He needs Scott to be on his side.  
Jackson looks at Stiles and gives him a crooked grin. Stiles grins back. Mission successful. They both are back sitting in Molly's flat. Toby is curled up in Stiles lap. The cat is just glad to find a human being who can pet him. He makes a satisfied purring sound when Stiles strokes under his ears. But his respite is cut short when he hears a knock at the door. He hisses and jumps down from Stiles lap and disappears into Molly's bedroom.  
Jackson goes up to open the door. He knows it is Molly coming back from her shift. He opens it and blinks at the stranger. Okay not so much a stranger, Jackson recognizes him as the man snooping around Molly's flat.

Sherlock had followed Molly obediently up to her flat but this is unprecedented. He recognizes the guy in front of him immediately. He is one part of the teenage duo at the bistro that day.  
Molly steps in as the guy moves to allow her in. She beckons him in. Sherlock follows silently but internally bursting with questions.  
He gets his fifth shock in the evening when he spots another teenager sitting in her couch looking all bemusedly at him. He stands up and cries, "You are Sherlock Holmes aren't you? I Googled you. Man you are a freaking legend!"  
Sherlock says, "American. Seventeen years old. Somewhere from California."  
"Wow man…how? Is it my nearly there tan?"  
Sherlock smiles, "Yes."  
"Cool. I am Stiles Stilinski."  
"Is that a real name?"  
Stiles sighs, having done this a million times already, "Yes."  
Sherlock turns around to face Jackson who comes forward and introduces himself. Sherlock scowl deepens as he realizes that he is American as well. What is Molly doing with two American teenagers? How does she even know them?  
Molly turns to Jackson and says, "He saw me. I mean the whole eyes and teeth thing."  
Jackson's' eyes widen with anxiety. He mutters, "Molly."  
"He can help."  
Stiles hears their exchange and says, "Yeah man he can help. I mean the body is with the police."  
"What body?" Sherlock asks.  
"Igor Jablonski."  
"It is not with the police anymore." Molly and Sherlock say so simultaneously.  
"What?" Jackson asks.  
"A blonde man and a redhead woman stole it."  
"Wait those are the same guys who came to look for you again, right?" Stiles cries.  
"What guys?" Molly asks, her voice shaking.  
Jackson and Stiles explain. All this while Sherlock keeps quiet his mind running at a fast pace processing all this information he is getting. So these three were involved with that death.  
When they have stopped explaining things to Molly, they look at Sherlock. Stiles asks, "So you believe us? I mean this?"  
Sherlock says, his deep voice a low rumble (Molly nearly melts), "I see what I believe in. But the supernatural is not real."  
Jackson says, "How do you explain this?" And with that he changes.  
Sherlock looks on with silent awe as his eyes turn an icy blue and claws replace nails on his hand. Sherlock does not miss the teeth as well. Or the tufts of fur on his face.  
For the first time in life Sherlock has no comeback. He looks at Stiles who shrugs and says, "Nah man I am still human, like you."  
"But-" Sherlock says.  
Molly steps forward. She takes his hand and places it over her pulse. Sherlock's eyes widen in surprise when he takes her pulse which is not normal for a human. "See?" Molly says, "I know you also took a look at my blood chemistry. I had a feeling you would do so. This is real. The supernatural is very real. And now I need your help."  
Sherlock gulps as he looks down at her soft brown eyes, silently pleading with him. His mind flashes back to that day when he had asked her to help him fake his death. She had helped him, never thinking of the consequences. The problem now is that his logical brain refused to believe this. But his eyes cannot fool him either. He knows what he has seen for the last few days. The changes in her and then the incident at the alley. He knew there must be an explanation and this is it. He nods, "Okay." He finds himself thinking that he cannot really refuse her after everything. He can do this much for her.  
Molly sighs in relief. She thought it would be hard to convince him. But she knew the possible reason he had agreed. At least he felt enough gratitude for her.  
"So it means Igor was most probably killed by a werewolf then?" Sherlock asks after he releases her wrists. He ponders how she can be so strong yet still look so delicately fragile.  
"Yes. But the werewolf packs in this city think I killed him," Jackson says.  
"Did you?"  
"No he didn't." Molly says.  
"How do you know?" Sherlock asks. His pathologist had her head down and she is busy twisting her scarf.  
"I was there."  
All three of them—Jackson, Stiles and Sherlock—look at her in utter shock. She takes time to look at all three of them and taking a deep breath, she continues, "Whoever turned me killed Igor."  
Stiles asks, "How…I mean how do you know?"  
"She read the file on Igor. You saw the dates and came to this conclusion. Also you recognized that it was the same alley that you use where the corpse was found," Sherlock says. Molly nods along.  
Jackson gasps along with Stiles as Sherlock looks on baffled. Jackson says, "That was Igor's dead body? Who the hell can possibly kill that guy?"  
"Why not?" Sherlock asks.  
Stiles smiles, "Well Mr. Holmes if you'd like to know, you need to sit down."

Sherlock wraps his scarf around his neck and turns up his coat collar up to ward against the wind. He goes over all the new information he had collected over the last hour. It is all very new to him. And he cannot deny that he is not curious to know more. Jackson had informed him all about Igor Jablonski, Augustus Lowndes and Gustav Akraka. He also mentioned the death sentence on his head. And there was someone coming from Beacon Hills to help as well.  
Basically, Jackson Whittemore wants to hire him, the consulting detective, to solve this murder. As Stiles had told him that werewolf or human, murders and wrongful accusations are all the same everywhere.  
Well then, the game is on.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Two days later Derek Hale steps down on British soil with a foul mood and severe disruption of his sleep cycle (he is not a confident flier). He walks to the airport's exit thinking that Stiles better be here to pick him up or else he will rip somebody's throat out because he really is cranky and hungry. He scowls and takes a look around him in disdain. Then on his right he sees a lanky teenager with hair sticking up in all direction running towards him. He huffs and puts his bag down at his feet.  
Stiles halts in front of him and bends down clutching his knees and trying to catch his breath. He was never much of a runner but he did not want to be killed by Derek Hale either. He grins up apologetically at Derek. But Derek's infamous scowl wipes the grin off his face.  
Derek grumbles, "Five minutes."  
"That is not that late," Stiles reasons.  
"I can catch the return flight."  
"Okay sorry dude. Come on."  
They walk in silence to the taxi stand. Derek asks, "Where am I staying? Jackson said he would make arrangements."  
"About that," Stiles starts sweating a bit. He had warned Jackson that it was a bad idea. He says, "Erm, at Jackson's place. He is currently not living there so, you know."  
"Okay."  
"Oh and there is something else."  
"What?"  
"You have a roommate."  
"Who?" Stiles could bet his life he could feel the annoyance emitting out of Derek in waves.  
"Erm, me. Hey roomie," Stiles waves lamely at him.  
The silence that follows is downright eerie. Stiles counts the minutes and seconds. So exactly two minutes and thirty five seconds later Derek speaks, "One, do not ever call me roomie. Two, stay away from me, only interact with me when it is absolutely necessary. Three, don't touch my things. Capiche?"  
"Yes sir!"  
"And don't do that, ever."  
"Okay," Stiles sinks deeper into the seat.  
"Wait," Derek says, "Aren't you supposed to be on a prize trip thing? What are you doing at Jackson's place?"  
"Uh I told them that I had some family emergency so I need to leave. As far as they know I am back in California."  
"Hmm."  
"You hungry?"  
"Yeah."  
"Good. Molly makes real good pies. She said she will make some shepherd's pie for us for lunch."  
"Molly? The female werewolf?"  
"Yeah."  
"Hmm."  
Stiles opens his mouth to make conversation but one look at Derek's stony face, he shuts up and looks out the window. He wonders whether he would be alive for the next nine days or not because he is currently shacking up with the most scary, angry and cranky wolf ever to exist in Beacon Hills. He has some choice words to say to Scott when he meets him. "Break" and "distraction" indeed.

Molly brings out the pie from the oven. Well it looks delicious, she thinks. She hopes Mr. Hale likes it. From what she heard from Jackson and Stiles, he is "scary, cranky, dangerous and hasn't smiled since kingdom come". Okay then, if she can handle Sherlock, the most narcissistic and arrogant (and gorgeous, she adds in subtext) man she has ever had the misfortune (or is it good fortune?) to meet—she can handle this Derek Hale, "the most angry young man of Beacon Hills".  
She decides to do some chores while she waits. She cleans the kitchen and then takes the trash out. She goes outside to the trash chute to dispose the garbage. As her work there is done, she turns to head back into her apartment but instead collides with something hard and muscular which holds her firmly so she does not fall over and split her skull on the floor. She moves her head sideways and blinks up at a disgustingly gorgeous man with grey eyes and scruffy face looking down at her.  
Derek stares back at the small woman clutched in his arms. She had not seen him coming and had crashed into him. Not that he minded. She blinks up at him with chocolate brown eyes and he feels a smile coming onto his face from her expression. She is really pretty with her cute nose and all. London feels great already. She stammers, "I-I am so sorry. I did not-"  
"No not at all. You did not see me coming and I did not even…I am sorry, here." He helps her to her feet and she stands straight. She is really short. She winds a strand of hair behind her ear and gives him a brilliant smile. He says, "Uh you-I don't know your name."  
"Uh Molly, Molly Hooper," she says.  
His eyebrows rise up his forehead, "Then you must know who I am," when she gives a confused expression, he laughs, "I am Derek Hale, from Beacon Hills. I assume those two boys have given glowing reports of me."  
Molly laughs, "Glowing? Yes!"  
He joins in her laughter. A voice behind them says, "Wow you can…laugh. Where is the camera when you need it?"  
Molly looks over his shoulder to see Stiles standing and shaking his head. She grins at him. He says, "So I see you two have already met."  
The scowl returns as he glares at Stiles. Molly says, "Well lunch is ready. You two freshen up and come along. I will go wake Jackson up."  
She walks back to her apartment not before throwing Derek a small smile over her shoulder. Derek smirks. He says, "So that is Molly Hooper."  
"Yes."  
"She is cute." Derek swears mentally at that admission.  
"Yeah. She is cute," Stiles murmurs which is not missed by Derek who turns his head to look at him with a question on his face. Stiles does a mental head slap, clears his throat and keeping his head high in the air like nothing had happened walks to Jackson's apartment.

"So who is Sherlock Holmes?" Derek finally gets to ask after lunch.  
Stiles says, "The most legendary person I ever met. I mean seriously he is supremely clever!"  
"And supremely rude and arrogant," Jackson adds.  
Basically a Derek Hale with brains, Stiles thinks and thanking God that Derek cannot read minds.  
"Hey he is a good man when he needs to be. He is intelligent, more intelligent than both of you. His methods may be mad, but he knows what he is doing! He is a great man. Who the hell fakes his death for the safety of his friends?" Molly interjects hotly.  
Derek does not miss the flush on her face while she defends this man with that funny British name. He is eager to meet this person now. Also he finds himself asking, "He faked his death?"  
Molly replies, "Yeah. Two years ago."  
"Molly helped him," Jackson informs, "Her being a pathologist and all."  
The flush returns as she remembers their conversation in her lab two years ago. "You" in that stupid voice of his is all that it had taken her to put her career and life on the line. And the funny thing is, she never regreted it and if he needs her again, she would do it all over (well she hopes he will never need her _that_ way ever again).  
She suddenly feels the sudden urge to be alone. Her complex feelings for the consulting detective were such a jumbled mess now. She stands up and mutters her goodnight. The three men remain silent till she slams her bedroom door so hard that the door frame shakes slightly.  
Stiles says, "Well then."

Stiles sits beside him, and is constantly jabbering. Sherlock is not amused with this companion. They are on their way to talk to Gustav Akraka. Stiles had insisted on coming after…Sherlock tries to but cannot really help it as his mind wanders back to his altercation with Derek Hale at St Barts.  
He was being himself. Arrogant, smug and correct, but all of that was tinged by a light shade of jealousy (no matter how much he disagreed on that). He did not miss the sheepish gazes Molly would send Derek, or Derek smiling too often at her. He noted all the appreciative looks Molly gave Derek after every time he would flex his muscles under his leather jacket. Then the flirting. And the blushing. Only he was allowed to make her blush like that! The man just landed today and his effect on his pathologist was irritating him more than it should. There, it is irritation and not jealousy, he reasons with himself.  
The taxi stops at an office and they get out. Stiles says, "We are walking into a wererwolf lair. I repeat, two mortals walking into a werewolf lair…this is insane."  
Sherlock fixes his scarf and says nothing. He pushes the glass doors and walks up to the elevators. When they reach their destined floor, they see a secretary manning the main office.  
Sherlock walks up to the secretary with Stiles running to catch up to him. He leans down and says, "I need to meet Mr. Akraka."  
The woman at the desk says, "Do you have an appointment?"  
"No. Tell him it is Sherlock Holmes asking about Igor."  
"But-"  
"Just do it. And if I were you I would convey this message to my boss so I don't get fired and can continue to fund my pill addiction."  
The woman gapes at him for awhile. She shakily stands up and walks up to her boss's office.  
Stiles says, "How?"  
"She has a half-empty bottle of Adderall hidden behind her purse."  
"And she is of the wrong age and sex to have ADHD," Stiles says in a low pitch, "That was cool."  
Sherlock simply smirks. The secretary comes back. She gestures them to go inside the office.  
Stiles says, "Thank you" as he scurries to follow Sherlock who has already started marching towards the office.  
They walk into an office that could fit Molly's entire flat (Stiles thinks so). One side has a wall to floor glass window that gives spectacular views of metropolitan London. Behind a art deco desk sits the man himself, Gustav Akraka. He looks up from his smartphone and says in a condescending tone, "Yes?"  
Sherlock sits down opposite him and goes straight to the point,"We are investigating Mr. Igor Jablonski's death."  
Gustav startles and looks carefully at the man sitting opposite him. He looks familiar, Gustav says, "You are that detective with the funny hat."  
"Yes," Sherlock says in a tired voice. Stiles tries to not to laugh out loud.  
"I don't know any Igor Jablonski," Gustav says.  
"Well, I know he is a werewolf and I know you are a werewolf as well and that your rivalry was legendary. So let's cut to the chase, why did you frame Jackson Whittemore?"  
This question shocked both Gustav and Stiles. They both look at him with their mouth hanging open.  
"How?" Stiles gasps.  
"What?" Gustav asks raspily.  
"Igor and you were rivals, so if either of you got killed the other will be suspected by default. Here Igor died and that leaves you. Now you would try to do anything to be blameless, so you fix the blame on somebody else. Somebody who has no pack, no allegiance. Then you dress it up as an ambitious fight on Jackson's part to form his own territory. So I have to ask you, did you kill Igor Jablonski?"  
Stiles mouths a silent "Wow" while Gustav leans back in his chair. He laughs, "So I can safely assume that you were hired by Jackson Whittemore himself?"  
"Yes."  
"Well I will answer your question. I did not kill Igor. Do you know that only an Alpha can kill another Alpha?" Sherlock and Stiles nod their heads. Gustav continues, "I am an Alpha and so was he. So yeah you could say only I could kill Igor. But I did not because of three reasons—one, I am not crazy or desperate enough to kill Igor and two, I am not very powerful. I am rich, yes but I am no use in the fighting ring. And third, I am no longer an Alpha." He blinks his eyes and Sherlock and Stiles look on as his eyes turn the golden yellow colour of Betas, not the blood red of Alphas.  
Stiles frowns, "Like Derek."  
Sherlock turns to look at him, "What?"  
"Derek lost his Alpha status when he had to heal his sister."  
"Yes," Gustav says, "I had to heal my brother."  
Sherlock steeples his fingers. He asks, "So are there any more Alphas who can kill Igor?"  
"Not a lot," Gustav says, "The three of the remaining Alphas dispersed along Europe. Me with my money and Igor with his brute force managed to drive them away."  
"So you shifted the blame on Jackson so you stay safe," Stiles says.  
"Yes, and I am sorry. I had no other choice."  
Sherlock stands up, "You are a liar and a fraud. Be careful Mr. Akraka, I may not know much about werewolf pack dynamics but I know this, your secret is safe with us but I would say your execution is imminent." With that he whips around and leaves.  
Gustav cradles his head in his palms and sighs. Stiles says, "Dude."  
Gustav looks up and says, "Listen, tell your friend to talk to Augustus Lowndes. That guy is dangerous and fishy. He is the reason why I blamed Jackson."  
Stiles nods once as he leaves.


	13. Chapter Twelve

"Augustus Lowndes?" Jackson asks.  
Sherlock nods. They are all assembled at 221B Baker Street—Sherlock, Stiles, Molly, Jackson and even Derek who has refused to sit down and is currently backed into a corner with a prize-winning scowl on his face. And the infamous Derek Hale glare is fixed on everyone, especially Sherlock, who is also throwing the occasional glare back at Derek.  
"You two want to interview Augustus Lowndes?" Jackson asks again, taking his time to look at both Sherlock and Stiles. Stiles had become the unofficial assistant of Sherlock Holmes in this case. No one knew Sherlock's opinion on this. Molly thinks he prefers to talk to Stiles than actively miss John.  
Derek asks, "Who the hell is this Augustus Lowndes?"  
"Yeah you are taking his name as if he is Voldemort," Stiles comments. Every head turns to look at him.  
Jackson shrugs his shoulders and says, "Augustus Lowndes is a man of dubious origins. No one knows where he came from or who he really is. He is charismatic, generous and smart. But he is also ruthless, dangerous and a cold-blooded killer. Igor had bought Augustus under his wing when he was just sixteen—that was five years ago. Igor was having a hard time maintaining his territories and he employed Augustus to help him. The three Alphas that Gustav mentioned? Yeah half of their packs are dead. And word on the street is that Augustus was the one who finished them, hence forcing the three Alphas to pack up and leave."  
"Woah. This is like Godfather—the werewolf edition," Stiles mutters and does the jazz hands. Again every head turns to look at him.  
"Enough with the movie references Stiles," Derek says, "Stiles and I will go meet this guy."  
Sherlock stands up, "Excuse me, I am the detective here. You don't get to interrogate suspects."  
Derek crosses his arms and glares at Sherlock. Sherlock glares back. Stiles shakes his head, Beta or no Beta, Derek is too Alpha to function and human or werewolf, Sherlock is too much an Alpha male himself.  
Molly rolls her eyes. She stands up and takes her place between the two men. She faces Derek and says, "He is right," she turns to face Sherlock, "And I shall go with you and Stiles."  
Both men open their mouth to argue but Molly raises her hands and says in a firm voice, "No. I am not hearing anything. Derek, Sherlock is the detective here," Sherlock's chest puffs up just a wee bit, "And Sherlock you can't go alone, as a werewolf I can help. So shut up both of you."  
Stiles and Jackson share a grin as the two Alpha men begrudgingly agree with Molly Hooper.

Finding Augustus Lowndes was not that hard, considering that he had pretty much taken over everything that Igor owned. Igor Jablonski owned two garages, a car dealership and a meat shop. Stiles could only guess why he owned a meat shop. A few phone calls to his homeless network and Sherlock Holmes knew where Augustus was.  
He is at the second garage. The bigger one with the more expensive clients and suspicious paperwork. The three of them enter. A man comes up to them. He says, "Yes? May I help you with something?"  
Sherlock says, "We are here to meet Augustus Lowndes."  
The man frowns, "He isn-"  
"Oh we know he is here. Go scurry off to him and inform him that Sherlock Holmes wants to meet him." As the man still refuses to move, Sherlock repeats again, "Go on."  
The man shoots him a disdainful look but turns around and walks away. He reaches the opposite end where he knocks on a door. He goes in and after a few seconds he comes back with a young man following him. He is quite handsome and has brown hair. He flashes them a smile. He grins at Sherlock and says, "Oh my goodness, never thought I would get to see you, Sherlock Holmes here, ever. Big fan I am by the way. I religiously follow your and Dr. Watson's blog," he leans in and says in a whisper, "I never believed you were a fraud by the way. Though the whole fake-my-death thing was genius!" He shakes hands with Sherlock. Then for the first time he notices the other two people behind him. Sherlock notes the lingering gaze that Augustus gives Molly. He clears his throat and says, "We would like to talk to you about Igor."  
The smile drops. A cold, hard look flashes in Augustus's eyes. The brown eyes that were like warm coffee a few seconds ago now looks like the hard earth during winters. Sherlock doesn't miss this sudden change. Augustus says in a low voice, "It'd be better if we go to my office." He turns around and the three of then follow him.  
He pushes open the door and Stiles notes that half of Molly's flat can fit in here at least. Well Augustus is not flashy. A desk here, a few chairs there and a file cabinet pushed against a wall. Very minimalist. The only thing out of place is the gilded six feet long photo frame with a man in his late thirties with blonde hair, a strong jaw and piercing blue eyes silently passing judgement through the still picture.  
Augustus notices everyone stare at the picture. He smirks, "That is Igor Jablonski. He always had tha look on his face. This is one of the few pictures he ever allowed anyone to take. Not a camera-friendly person he was." He gestures everyone to sit down as he takes his place behind the desk cluttered with files and papers.  
They take their seats and Sherlock commences, "I think you can guess why we are here."  
"You are here investigating Igor's death. Well it is an epic waste of your time, I already know who killed him."  
"Yes, about that," Sherlock says, "You are wrong."  
"I am not. Look Mr. Holmes, I have the utmost respect for you-"  
"I am charmed thoroughly but you are wrong."  
"No I am not," his jaw hardens and his pulse elevates. Molly hears it, his heartbeat increasing. She is about to warn Sherlock to not be so such a prick now when all hell breaks loose.  
Augustus leaps from his seat and promptly lands on Sherlock. The chair tips over and both fall to the ground. Sherlock in reflex puts up his arm to protect his face and closes his eyes. Augustus's nails rip through his clothes. Suddenly the weight gets lifted off from Sherlock. He opens his eyes and gets surprised.  
Molly after wrenching Augustus off Sherlock had pulled him up and slammed him into the wall with his feet dangling a good foot from the floor. The wall behind Augustus cracked due to the sheer force with which Molly had used. Stiles who had seen the entire scene unfolding—from Augustus magnificent fierce leap to the his landing on Sherlock with his claws out; from Sherlock trying to push Augustus off him to Molly plucking him off Sherlock like he weighed no more than a rag doll—stood there completely dumbfounded and still trying to process the situation.  
Molly curls back her lips, her canines protruding and growls in Augustus's face. He retracts his claws and gives her a wolfish smile. He says with Molly's hands still clutched around his neck, "Why, you never said anything about your personal werewolf bodyguard slash overprotective girlfriend."  
Molly turns back to normal. She lets go and Augustus finds solid ground. He runs his fingers through his hair and keep smiling at Molly, "You could get a place in this pack if you want, if your boyfriend allows you to."  
Molly says in a dangerously low voice, hatred dripping from it, "He is not my boyfriend and nothing will ever entice me to join this pack." Her eyes glints amber as she shoots him a malicious glance, clearly reading 'you-touch-him-you-die' and Augustus gets the message loud and clear.  
Stiles helps Sherlock to his feet. They both look at Molly—Stiles all awed and Sherlock trying to digest the change of his sweet, shy, timid pathologist to a pushing-people-up-walls-and-cracking-cement werewolf.  
"Sorry back there Mr. Holmes," Augustus says, "I—you see Igor Jablonski was like a father figure to me. And now that I know you run around with werewolves, let me tell you, do not get between me and my mission."  
"Mission?" Stiles asks, "To kill an innocent person?"  
"Innocent? Wait what do you know?" he takes a step towards him.  
Molly comes in between. She place her palm flat on his chest and says, "Jackson Whittemore did not kill anyone. You know why? Because I was there. I didn't see who killed Igor, but his killer is the one who bit me."  
Augustus takes this information in. He gulps and looks confused. Only Sherlock notices the malevolent glint he is trying to hide beneath his apparent confusion. He frowns. Molly further adds, "And now we leave, if you want to talk to us as humans, contact Sherlock through his website."  
She turns around and smiles apologetically at Sherlock. She has noticed his stoic silence no wonder trying to understand her sudden change. She is surprised too. She has never ever felt this kind of a guttural rage. She breaks eye contact with Sherlock. She glances at the web-like crack on the wall and shudders slightly. She looks at Stiles and says, "Let us go."  
After they leave Augustus sits down and putting his feet up on the table, he smiles to himself. Molly Hooper is the one thing on his mind right now. She is one unique werewolf. Very strong and feisty for a recently turned werewolf. He scoffs, he would like to see her again.

As Stiles hails down a cab, Molly's nose crinkles up as she registers a new smell hovering in the air. A taxi halts. They get in. As Stiles is about to give Sherlock's address, Molly intervenes and says, "St Barts Hospital please."  
Stiles asks, "Why?"  
"I am bleeding and I can correctly assume Molly can smell it," Sherlock answers.  
"Yes. You need first aid," Molly says.  
They get to St Barts and Stiles and Sherlock silently follow Molly as she strides to her office. She wrenches open her drawer and brings out the first aid box. She gestures to Sherlock to take off his coat. As he takes it off, both Molly and Sherlock wince at the sleeve which has been ripped to shreds. Molly murmurs, "That was such a gorgeous coat." She winces further when she sees the four gashes on his arm still bleeding. She breathes out a sigh of relief when she sees the wounds are not that serious.  
"I have a spare one," Sherlock says.  
"I am not surprised that you have a spare one," Molly rolls her eyes. Stiles snickers.  
She dabs some antiseptic on a wad of cotton and tries cleaning the wound. As Sherlock hisses in pain, she looks up at him with her brown eyes silently begging his forgiveness. He says, "I have had worse. Molly I-"  
"Wait. I am pretty sure an antiseptic won't work!" Stiles cries.  
Molly and Sherlock look at him. He explains, "Scratched by a wolf, it might be venomous. We might need wolfsbane to purify that." He points to Sherlock's wound. He takes out his phone. He calls Derek. "Hey Derek, umm rhetorical question. If a werewolf scratches a mere mortal, does said mortal need wolfsbane to heal? Even if the scratches are not that deep?"  
Molly and Sherlock look on as Stiles nods his head thrice. He disconnects and says, "Well we need wolfsbane. Luckily Jackson has some. I will be right back."  
"I will make a rudimentary bandage then. Be quick okay?" Molly pleads.  
"Be right back!" Stiles jogs out of the office.  
Molly starts dabbing his wound again. Sherlock mutters, "Why did he attack me?"  
"Who knows? All I know is he is a bad tempered wolf and I absolutely loathe him," Molly replies.  
Sherlock frowns because he cannot explain Augustus's behavior. He asks, "Did I antagonise him too much?"  
She smiles, "No I don't think so. You were below normal on your antagonizing scale."  
"So why would he?"  
She looks up and grabs both his shoulders. She now registers he is wearing that purple shirt, that purple shirt she likes. Okay not so much as like as she wants to rip it off him. She takes a shaky breath and looks square in his eyes, "Sherlock, stop it. He did not do much harm, be happy for that please?"  
He gives her a crooked smile, "Thank you by the way."  
Molly tilts her head, "You are welcome." She drops her arms, averts her gaze and says, "Though I did not know what came over me."  
"I must admit, it was…impressive. Even the cement cracked."  
She starts blushing furiously at that. Sherlock Holmes complimenting her—scratch that, Sherlock Holmes complimenting anyone was so rare that a giggle manages to escape from her voice box.  
"So impeccable strength, superior smell and what else?" Sherlock asks.  
"Well I move a bit faster, my heart rate is not normal anymore, superior hearing and oh, I am always warm. Like sweater or no sweater are no longer a big deal," Molly replies in a rush with tremendous enthusiasm.  
He grasps her left wrist and checks her pulse. He murmurs, "Yes, a bit beyond the normal." He then folds his both his hands around her tiny hand. He whispers, "Yes you are too warm."  
Molly's eyes go wide with anxiety as her pulse get erratic and her heartbeat kicks up a notch. She tries to force her brain to think, but his touch has already melted her cognitive functions. Then she could hear another heartbeat. She looks up to find Sherlock staring all funny at her. _Oh that heartbeat is him_.  
He tentatively traces the nerves on her hand, her pulse throbbing. He smirks, he knows why obviously. But what he does not realise is how fast his own heart is beating. She is so soft and warm. And not to forget her closeness is slightly unnerving. He gulps. His mind is fighting with his body. He tries to reason that this is a bad idea. But then Molly leans in.  
She starts trembling a little. What she is about to do is plain insane, but she will freak about this later in her tub with a bottle of wine nearby. Right now the wolf in her is telling her to not waste this chance. After all she had always wanted to feel how those luscious lips would feel and taste. So she throws caution to the wind and leans in. She grabs his collars and pulls him closer. Then she firmly puts her lips on his.  
His eyes go wide with shock. She is kissing him. All the alarms activate in his mind palace. Whatever, he shuts that door and finds his arms snaking around her and pulling her closer still. She realises what he just did and gasps. He takes this oppurtunity and swipes his tongue over her lower lip. This elicits another gasp from her.  
She is honestly shocked. Sherlock is kissing her back. SHERLOCK HOLMES IS ACTUALLY KISSING HER BACK, her subconscious screams back at her. She winds her fingers in his gorgeous dark curls and nips at his full lower lip. A low purr emanates from his throat as she grazes her fingernails on his scalp. He silently scolds himself from ever telling her that her lips were too small as she kisses him wild.  
Molly shows Sherlock exactly what she can do with her tongue when suddenly she hears a sound. She pulls away and sees the baffled look in his eyes at the sudden interruption. She moves back a little and says, "Stiles is back."  
Sure enough, a few seconds later Stiles enters with a package in his hands. He grins, "Jackson sends his condolences." For the first time he notices the tension in the room. His grin drops and he says, "Uh everything okay?"  
"Yes!" Sherlock and Molly say simultaneously. Stiles narrows his eyes at them but says nothing as he gives Molly the package.  
She brings out the bunch of purple flowers from the brown paper bag. Stiles says, "Uh you need to crush it."  
She says, "Okay. I think I have a mortar and pestle in the lab."  
"Eh be careful. It is poison to you. So I, uh, have to apply it," Stiles says. She nods and leaves with the flower.  
He turns to Sherlock and waves at him, "If you have no problem with me touching you."  
Sherlock frowns, "What?"  
"Never mind."  
Sherlock's phone pings. He says, "That is an email. Check it. It is in my coat, my phone."  
Stiles grabs his phone out of his coat all the while muttering, "A 'please' would not kill him."  
"Excuse me?"  
"Nothing," Stiles open the little box flashing on the screen. He opens it and reads it, "I have a surprise for you. I hope you get it. Augustus Lowndes." He looks at Sherlock all aghast.  
Sherlock says, "He sent something to Baker Street."  
Molly comes back. She looks at the two of them. She had heard everything. She gives the mortar and pestle to Stiles. She says with a grim face, "We better hurry then."


End file.
